


Mini Fics from Tumblr

by BonitaBreezy



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Blood, Bloodplay, Character Death, I might have to think up a new one later, I'll add more when I add more fics to it I guess, M/M, The title of this super sucks, This is a bunch of different fics, but I guess for now the most relevant is blood, death kink, is that a thing?, so there's a bunch of different warnings to tag, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-11-28 19:43:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonitaBreezy/pseuds/BonitaBreezy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mini-fics written on tumblr and posted here for organization.  None of them are connected, just compiled in the same area for convenience.  Can pretty much guarantee they're all going to be ClintCoulson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> I have this thing where I write fanfics on gif posts and whatnot. And I keep losing them and never seeing them again, so I'm going to post them here with a link to the post on tumblr as well. If I can find them, that is.

[Original Post here](http://bonitabreezy.tumblr.com/post/42731302314/can-someone-please-write-some-phlint-about-this-gif)

Clint had always been a little unhinged.  Phil knew that from the moment he first laid eyes on him in Prague, his eyes wild and bright as he sunk an arrow straight through the left eye of the man Phil had been tailing for a few days.  He’d stayed where he was on the rooftop, letting Phil find the trajectory of the shot and trace it back to him.  He’d sent a little wave and then disappeared, but Phil had been hooked.

It had taken a little over a year for them to pin Clint down and recruit him, and even then he’d refused to work with anyone but Phil.  That turned out to be okay, because Clint Barton was a difficult case to handle, and he made most of the other handlers uncomfortable, because while he was smart and deadly and gorgeous, Clint got off on the kill.  It wasn’t extremely noticeable, and Phil thought he might be the only one who knew what was really going on, but he was odd enough that others knew something about him wasn’t right, and they shied away.  But for Phil, who had spent so much time obsessing over Barton, the way his breathing changed and his eyes darkened with a wild sort of want was enough to give him away, and it hadn’t taken long for Phil to snap.

He could hardly ever take the time to get Clint off directly after a kill, because usually they were on the move, or there were other agents around, and because it would be extremely sloppy to leave any sort of obvious DNA, but later, when they were alone and safe, he would fuck Clint and recount every little detail he could think of about the kill, growling into his ear as Clint keened and moaned and babbled for more, harder, please don’t stop talking oh god.

It was darker than Phil could ever have imagined himself being, but watching the way it made Clint unravel was hotter than anything he ever could have dreamed up.  In a weird way, over time, Phil realized, simultaneously, that he was in love and also that he was extremely fucked up.  But Clint felt the same, and that made everything okay.

They did their best to keep Clint’s preferences under wraps, but they couldn’t hide his whole personality, which was abrasive and disturbed at the best of times, and Clint often found himself having trouble with the other agents.  He was completely fine with that, and as long as he didn’t actually kill anyone, Phil was fine with it too.  It let Clint get his aggression out, and the sight of blood was always enough to get him hot enough for a quickie, so really it was a win win.

This was why, when Phil saw Clint being confronted by some new recruit who had come directly out of the Marines (they were always the worst when they came from the Marines), he didn’t step in or even make his presence known, but instead just stopped to watch.

The recruit (Jameson his brain supplied) was almost directly in Clint’s face, talking shit about how he was only a senior agent because he was fucking the boss. Not true, obviously, but it made it very clear that Jameson really had no clue who he was fucking with.  Clint stared at him for a second and then drew his gun and put it right up in Jameson’s face.

“Maybe I am only where I’m at because I’m fucking the boss,” he answered with a grin. “But from here, I really don’t think I’ll miss.”

“You wouldn’t shoot me,” Jameson insisted, though he didn’t sound as sure as he had a minute ago.  Everyone knew that Clint was a little bit crazy, after all, and rumors spread fast.  Jameson had to have heard them, even though he was new.

Clint shrugged, but didn’t lower the gun.  Apparently, Jameson thought it was hesitation, and his shoulders straightened and his ego flared back up.

“I knew you couldn’t do it.  Everyone says to watch out for you, but you’re just a slut who takes it for a promotion.”

And then Clint laughed, and it was rough and sexy and Phil wanted to go over there and grab him and have his way, but he knew he had to wait.  Clint would handle this idiot, and then there would be plenty of time.

“You seem really interested in my sex life, Jameson.  Do you want to fuck me?  Is that what this is about?  Because really, you could have just asked.”  He winked and gave Jameson an exaggerated up and down while he said it, and Jameson actually took a step back from him, his face going red with anger.

“Fuck you, I’m not a fag!” he spat, and Clint sighed, flipping the gun in his hand and catching the barrel.

“You’re boring me,” Clint told him, and then struck fast, pistol whipping him across the face.  Jameson, clearly not expecting it, took the brunt of the blow, stumbling backwards on to his ass from the force.  Clint laughed joyfully again, setting his boot in the center of Jameson’s chest, forcing him on to his back, before climbing on top of him to sit on his chest.

“Now, see, this is  _much_  more fun,” he purred, running his fingers through the blood spilling down Jameson’s cheek.

“Get the fuck off me, you faggot!” Jameson yelled, but his voice was more panicked then commanding.  It was probably clear to him, now, that no one was willing to help him out and piss Clint off even more.

“That’s not a nice word,” Clint told him, grabbing the knife from his boot and pressing it against Jameson’s throat, just lightly enough to break the skin. “I could kill you right here, you know.  Saw your fucking head off with a knife.  But Agent Coulson made me promise not to kill any more newbies.  Apparently it’s bad for morale or something, I don’t know.  So I’m going to let you live.”  He sat back and grabbed the collar of Jameson’s shirt, splitting it with the knife.

“But I’m going to leave you this, so you’ll remember,” Clint said, and he dug his knife in to Jameson’s chest, not deep enough to really impair him, but definitely enough to scar.  He carved his own initials there with a little arrow for an underline, grin getting sharper and sharper the more Jameson screamed. “If you ever fucking look at me the wrong way again, I will kill you,” Clint told him as he finished the fletching. “And it will hurt.  A lot.  Got it?”

Jameson nodded frantically and Clint frowned at him, waiting, until Jameson spat out, “Yeah, I got it!”

“Good,” Clint purred. “It’s been a lot of fun, but I’ve got a meeting with my handler.  See you around.” And as he rose up, fluid and graceful, his eyes caught Phil’s and darkened, and every fiber in Phil’s body reacted with want.

He sent off a quick text to his secretary, telling her to reschedule any appointments he had for the next hour.  He had an asset he needed to handle.


	2. Two

[Original Post here](http://bonitabreezy.tumblr.com/post/33258770727/saw-this-picture-and-had-to-phil-coulson-was-in#notes)

Phil Coulson was in love.  He and Clint had been dancing around each other, sort-of kind-of dating, for weeks, but Phil had never realized before that he was, well and truly, deeply in love with Clint until right this moment.

They were sitting in a SHIELD break room drinking coffee and talking, Phil checking his email on his phone, and Natasha had told some story about an op gone ridiculous and Clint had leaned his forehead on his hand and was laughing hysterically and Phil just stopped and stared, breath caught. He was gorgeous, and with them, he was carefree and happy, and Phil wanted to see him like this always.

“Clint,” he said quietly, and still laughing, Clint turned and glanced at him.  He didn’t say anything when Phil took a picture, but his smile stretched a little wider and became a little softer. Phil saved the picture.

All three of their phones went off at the same time, and the moment was over, but as they stood to leave the room, Clint grabbed Phil’s arm to hold him back and kissed him quickly on the lips before following after Natasha.

So Phil was ridiculously in love. But he was pretty sure he wasn’t the only one.


	3. Three

[Original post here](http://bonitabreezy.tumblr.com/post/42339955021/oh-god-its-like-clints-getting-ready-for-his#notes)

 

Oh god it’s like Clint’s getting ready for his wedding.  And he hates getting all dressed up like this, but Phil asked him to.  So even though he feels like the tie is cutting off his oxygen and he thinks it looks stupid he’d going to wear it because that’s what Phil wants.

And he’s so nervous because he’s getting  _married_  and who would have thought  _that_ would ever happen, and he’s getting married to  _Phil_ , who is so completely out of his league but for some reason wants Clint anyway. So he’s insanely nervous and he can’t stop fidgeting.  Normally he’d be climbing the walls by now, but Natasha keeps telling him that he’ll rip his slacks and then Phil will be so disappointed, and he never ever wants to disappoint Phil if he can help it, but he has to do something, so he keeps trying to loosen his collar and tie because he’s pretty sure he’s gonna pass out.

and finally Natasha gives up on trying to make him stop and when the justice of the peace comes in to makes sure he’s ready and tell him it’s time for him to go out and meet Phil and get married he realizes that he’s messed it up and it looks sloppy and he panics, because he can’t look sloppy for Phil  _he can’t_.

And then Natasha is grabbing him by the sides of the face and staring him in the eyes and telling him he better calm down before she knocks him out and has to go out and tell Phil there’s a delay, and that’s enough to get him to breathe deep, because he knows she’d do it.

and the Justice just smiles and helps Clint straighten out his collar, and Clint tries to pretend like he wasn’t just having a melt down, and then he goes out and sees Phil and they get married.

and it’s perfect.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Admittedly, this one is actually a headcanon

[Original post here](http://bonitabreezy.tumblr.com/post/30763960849/so-i-have-this-headcanon#notes)

Where the Avengers all have a clothing line thing, marketing and stuff, you know.  And there are Hawkeye hoodies, like, black with purple sleeves and hood, with “Hawkeye” down one arm and an arrow down the other (and a little silver bow and arrow charm on the zipper). And Tony thought it would be really funny to give Clint one for his birthday.  Except that Clint fucking loves it and wears it ALL THE TIME.

and it becomes his go-to piece of clothing when he’s off duty, so he’s constantly wearing this  ~~ridiculous~~  awesome hoodie with his codename plastered on it, and it’s wearing down around the elbows and fraying at the ends of the sleeves and it looks a bit ratty and it drives Phil crazy because he loves Clint, he really really does, but that hoodie looks like it belongs at the bottom of a dumpster and he CAN’T GET RID OF IT because if anyone touches it Clint gets super pissy about it.

So one day, he’s hanging out in Tony’s lab so he can test out a new round of arrow heads and he tosses the hoodie off to the side, because he can’t have sleeves interfering with his bow string. and he leaves it there.  And Dummy throws it in the wash with Tony’s plethora of oil rags, and it gets  _destroyed,_ like stained with oil and bleach and completely unsalvageable, and Coulson absolutely refuses to let him wear it anymore, thank god.

But then Clint is wicked upset about it, moping around the tower for  _weeks_  because it was the  _coolest hoodie ever_  and it was worn in  _just right_  and he just won’t shut up about the damn thing, and they stopped producing them six months ago, and before Coulson knows it, he’s scouring the Internet, looking for any remnants of this damn hoodie that he hates so much, even going so far as to blackmail Tony in to helping him.

and so, about three months after the death of Clint’s stupid hoodie, Tony finds a fan who is super in to collecting Avengers merch who has what appears to be the only remaining Hawkeye hoodie in the right size on the fucking planet.  And she’s willing to trade it for a t-shirt signed by the whole team.

That’s not hard to acquire, because everyone else is just as sick as the fucking whining as Phil is.  So, a shirt is signed, an exchange is made, and for Christmas Clint receives a purple and black Hawkeye hoodie.  In return, Phil receives a vaguely pornographic kiss and Tony spends the next few weeks wailing about how he’s scarred for life.

The hoodie becomes a sacred object, vigilantly guarded by the threat of unknowing pain should someone even look at it wrong.  It’s ridiculous and he hardly stops wearing it long enough to wash it, but Clint loves it and they all love Clint. 

So they deal.


	5. five

Can we just talk about Coulson’s face as the Tesseract levels the building?

He’s safe, but he looks so damn worried as he stares back at it.  Because he was clearing out the upper level, and Barton was in the lower level.  And he doesn’t know yet that Barton was compromised and had already left the blast area.

Barton should have been with Fury and he wasn’t, and in that moment I’m sure that Phil is thinking Clint is dead, and he, for once, can’t keep his feelings from his face.


	6. Six

Because of [this post](http://coulsons-hawk.tumblr.com/post/47602306476/let-me-just-plop-a-doctor-patient-au-here-for-a-sec) on tumblr

 

Phil's was a damn good doctor.  He knew he was, because everyone had always told him so.  He'd graduated at the top of his class and went through his internships and his residency like he'd been doing it all his life.  He'd been hailed as one of the best neurosurgeons in the country.  Phil Coulson knew his shit, and he knew it well.  He'd saved hundreds of lives, both through surgery and through his own research and discoveries in the field.

It was ironic that, of all the lives he'd saved, there was nothing he could do for the man he'd fallen in love with.

He met Clint Barton in May of 2012 when he started seeing Bruce Banner about his frequent migraines and the black spots that sometimes appeared in his vision.  He had been gorgeous, with dark blonde hair and happy blue eyes and the most fantastic arms Phil had ever seen.  He hadn't realized that Clint was a patient, at first, and by the time he had realized, Phil had already agreed to go on a date with him.  The day after they went to a dive Mexican place with the best enchiladas Phil had ever tasted, Clint stopped by his office and told him he'd been diagnosed with a brain tumor, reading the words "glioblastoma multiforme" awkwardly from the pamphlet in his hand.

Phil didn't need an explanation, because he knew what that meant.  He knew that it was an aggressive, high grade tumor.  He knew that it was fast and deadly and tended to result in necrosis, the killing of the cells of the brain.  He also knew that most people diagnosed didn't live for more than two years.

But Clint had just barely turned thirty-five, and those under forty had a higher chance than most of beating it.  Clint was beautiful and saw the world in a way Phil would have never considered.  He was headstrong and stubborn, and even though Phil knew the statistics, he convinced himself that Clint was better than that.  Because he wanted Clint to be okay, he wanted to see what their future might be after a few more dates and kisses and maybe spending some nights together.

So he told Clint that everything would be all right.  He spouted his reputation in a way that he hoped was reassuring, and he asked if Clint would be interested in getting some lunch with him, because it was about time that he took a break.  Clint smiled and agreed, and for a while they were just two men on a date.

Phil was foolish, and he let himself hope, and he let Clint in to his life.  They went on dates and they spent as much of Phil's free time together as they could, and they got domestic, pretending like everything was okay.  It didn't matter that most of those dates happened in the hospital, and that Clint was so tired and weak from the chemo that he slept more often than not.  It didn't matter that he shrunk away from Phil's touch sometimes, because the port in his chest made him self conscious and that sometimes they just had to scrunch together on Clint's hospital bed and cuddle in the dark because Clint's migraines were so bad he couldn't stand there being any light in the room.  Because even though Phil knew that Clint was getting worse and that the chemo wasn't working, he let himself fall in love.

He spent almost all of his time at the hospital, either working or sitting at Clint's bedside, holding his hand while he tried to find any way that he could to save him.  Everyone had always told him that he was brilliant, that he would change the world, but when it came down to it, he couldn't find a way to fix the one person who meant the most to him.

Clint looked as sick as he was, his skin gone pale from the weeks spent in the hospital, most of his muscle mass lost to the cancer and chemo, his hair gone and deep shadows under his eyes.  He was still Clint, and he was still beautiful, but there was no denying that the cancer had changed him, if only in looks.

He remained positive and teasing, talking about how much work it was going to be to get back in shape once he was out.  He told Phil everything there was to know about him, in those long hours they spent lying together in the dark.  How he'd spent most of his childhood in a traveling circus, and how he's always dreamed of going to the Olympics for archery, and how he kind of wished that he knew how to contact his brother, because even though he was a dick it all just seemed so petty now and he was afraid to die alone.

In return, Phil gave Clint everything he was.  He told him about his parents in Chicago and growing up with five sisters and his own doubts and worries about his abilities.  He didn't think he'd ever been as honest with anyone as he had with Clint, including himself.

When they gave up on the chemo and decided to attempt stereotactic radiosurgery, Phil cursed the world for not being able to administer the radiation himself.  He was too close to Clint, and it was completely unethical, but he wanted to be the one to do it.  Banner was an excellent doctor, and Phil wasn't one for micromanagement, but this was Clint and Phil needed to know that everything would go right and that everything would be okay.

The tumor was spreading so fast that Clint had to go through several rounds of radiation that left him throwing up everything he had in his stomach and curling up miserably in Phil's arms to try and hide his face from any source of light.  It became pretty obvious, after a few rounds, that there was just too much and there was no longer anything they could do.

Clint took it a lot better than Phil did.  His first reaction was to throw himself in to research, desperate to find some miracle that would save him.  Then he wanted to blame Bruce for not doing enough, not doing it fast enough.  Then he tried bargaining with a god he didn't even believe in, and finally, Clint had told him in a soft voice that he was okay.

He didn't want to die, but there was nothing they could do, and if he only had a few more weeks to live, he wanted to spend them with Phil as much as possible.

"I want Phil my boyfriend, not Phil the neurosurgeon.  Please don't make me die alone," he'd said pitifully, and when faced with that, there was nothing Phil could do but agree.  He used his saved up vacation days to take off three weeks of work so that he could spend all his time with Clint.

Clint was in a lot of pain, and he was on a lot of drugs to try and ease that pain, so mostly Phil laid with him while he slept and read books to him when his head hurt so badly he had to cover his eyes.  He told Clint how much he loved him and apologized for not being able to do more for him.  And Clint told him that he'd never been happier than in those months he spent with Phil, cancer or not.

A few days before he died, Clint lost his sight.  They'd been lying face to face, mostly kissing and whispering to each other when Clint had gone tense and grabbed at Phil's shirt and then said, "I can't see."

They'd known it was coming, but it was a heavy blow, because it meant that the tumors had gotten even worse, and it meant that time was running out. He'd had to guide Clint through a panic attack, and then call Bruce to let him know what was happening.  He'd grimly reported what they already knew, that there were probably only days left, and he'd left them alone.

Clint cried for the first time, and Phil forced himself not to, holding him close and stroking his back and doing everything he could to offer comfort.  As he was drifting off to sleep, Clint told him that he was glad Phil's face was the last thing he saw, and Phil had to force himself not to cry until he was positive that Clint was asleep.

Over the next few days, Phil tried not to leave Clint's side any more than he absolutely had to, and Clint had clung to him with just as much fervor.  The only time Phil had actually left Clint's hospital room was to go to the gas station across the street and get him a freezer pop, because Clint had insisted that he had to have one because Barney had always given him one when he was sick.  He'd thrown it up not long after eating it, but he seemed happy anyway, and Phil couldn't feel bad about that.

He talked about Barney wistfully all afternoon, and how he wished Phil could have met him.  He said that he didn't think they'd have liked each other very much, but that he still wished that it could have happened.  He'd squeezed Phil's hand tightly right before he took his last breath, like he knew that it would be, and Phil couldn't stop the tears from streaming down his face as Clint's hand went lax and the machines started going off.  

He'd stood aside to let the nurses unhook all the machines, respectful of Clint's wishes that they not attempt to resuscitate him.  He stayed with the body until the morgue workers came up to collect it, and then he didn't know what to do with himself.  Almost a year of his life had been dedicated to that room and Clint, and now Clint was gone and it didn't seem real.

A nurse let him have Clint's things, because no one else was coming for them and they would just be thrown out otherwise.  He didn't really care about the beat up leather wallet with a twenty and a bunch of receipts in the billfold or the scratched up cell phone that never receive any calls.  All he wanted to keep was the slightly tarnished silver ring that Clint had worn on the index finger of his right hand until he'd lost so much weight that it didn't fit anymore.

He didn't know what the significance of it was, or where Clint had gotten it, but beside his memories it was all he had of Clint, and he knew he would wear it till the day he died.


	7. Seven

Based on [this](http://bonitabreezy.tumblr.com/post/49558844587/agntq-breakfast-and-bed-it-was-hard-to#notes) post on tumblr

 

It was hard to maintain a relationship when your husband was constantly on the move, but somehow Clint and Phil managed.  It was especially impressive because they were _both_  always on the move.  Clint was an airline pilot and Phil was a diplomat, but somehow they made it work.

They’d met when Clint had been visiting Natasha in Russia and Phil had been there sorting out some issue with an American citizen who’d been accused of committing some sort of crime there and they’d both caught the same flight back.  Clint hadn’t managed to be the pilot of the flight, but he had haggled his way in to business class and fully intended to sleep the entire ten hour trip from Moscow to New York.

But Phil had ended up sitting next to him, and instead they’d got caught up in conversation about anything and everything for the entire flight back.  By the time the plane had landed at JFK, they had exchanged phone numbers and promised to try and get a date in the next time they were both in New York for more than a night.

That turned out to be harder than they had thought it would be.  If Clint wasn’t gone on a three day trip flying different planes from place to place, Phil was on a Red Eye to France to try and sort out some incident that had the potential to create an international disaster.  They never seemed to be in New York at the same time, but that didn’t stop them from texting and calling each other whenever they had a spare moment.

They eventually figured out that sometimes their layovers were in the same airports, and they would always exchange itineraries and meet up whenever they could.  They dated for three years in airports all across the world, and every once in a while Phil would delay catching a flight so they could spend the night together in Clint’s hotel room.

But they always made sure to line up their vacations so they could spend two week together without having to worry about obligations, and by the end of those two weeks they just got more and more reluctant to part.  After the third vacation, they decided to get married.  Clearly they were capable of making a long-distance relationship work, and they were both positive they didn’t want to be with anyone else.  They had their wedding and honeymoon on the two week vacation, and life continued on as it always had, except they both wore platinum bands on their fingers that they could look at fondly when they started to get too lonely.

Out of all the things they did to feel closer to each other, though, what they called ‘Breakfast and Bed’ was Clint’s favorite.  When they were half a world apart from each other, it got very hard to talk and text because one would no doubt be sleeping while the other was working, and they had to be content with voice mails and sappy texts.

But sometimes their time differences managed to work out just so that one of them would be eating breakfast right as the other was getting ready to go to bed.  And one of them would call and they’d catch up and talk about anything important, and right before they hung up one of them would say, “I love you, good morning” and the other would respond “I love you too, good night” and the feeling of contentedness from that would be enough to last them until they were together again.


	8. Eight

The first week Kate started working at Coffee is Coming (the owner, Clint, was a big Game of Thrones fan, apparently) she was put on the evening shift when business was slower so that she could learn her way around the cash register.  The barista working with her, Natasha, was gorgeous but silent and threatening.  Kate had spent the first two days chatting at her hoping for a response, but had eventually given up in face of her one-word answers.

But now it was her first day on the morning shift, and though her company was much more friendly, she didn’t have time to talk.  As soon as the clock had hit nine there had been a never-ending stream of people through the door demanding coffee.  She hardly said anything to Clint except coffee orders until 10:30 when the rush finally died down.  Her bright purple t-shirt with the shop’s name across the front in black was sticking to her sweaty back, and bits of her hair had escaped her ponytail.  Clint had spilled an iced coffee down his front at some point during the rush.  It was now mostly dried, but had left a large off-colored stain across his chest.

“You’ve done awesome, so far,” he told her. “You kept up really well.”

“Thanks,” she said, watching in interest as he lifted the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, revealing an extremely fine set of abs. “That was really crazy.  Is it always like that?”

“Yeah, every morning from nine to ten thirty, and then again from noon to two,” Clint told her. “But Darcy comes in for the lunch rush, so it won’t be as bad.  It’ll be pretty dead for the next half hour or so, so clean up and restock.  I’m going to go find a new shirt and then I’ll be back to help you.”

Kate nodded, watching Clint’s ass as he headed to the back.  It was a very nice ass.  Once he was out of view, she started cleaning up.  First the machines and then the counter space.  By the time she was done with that, Clint still hadn’t reappeared and only one customer had come in, ordering just a muffin and a bottle of water.  She decided to clean the counter that held all the sugar packets and other extremities.  While she was scooping the plethora of wrappers into her hand to throw in the garbage, she noticed that the blackboard set up by the counter had a drawing of a little figure shooting arrows into a target under the words “Today your barista is: CLINT” and above “For your drink today I recommend”.  Apparently there was no drink to recommend, because the board remained blank under that.  Natasha had always filled out the board, but never with any pictures, and Kate decided that she liked Clint.

As she finished cleaning off the last of the counters, Clint came rushing out of the back room in a clean t-shirt with the sleeves cut off to show off his (admittedly spectacular) arms.  He had also fixed his hair, which had dropped a bit during the rush.  He looked hot, and Kate had absolutely no qualms about checking him out.

“What time is it?” he demanded.

Before Kate could respond with the time, the bell over the door rang and a cute middle aged man in a very nicely cut suit entered the shop.  He said something sharply into his phone and then hung up, approaching the counter at a quick pace.  Kate started towards the register, but suddenly Clint was there, smiling and asking if the man wanted his regular.

She watched as he made the coffee with practiced ease, his eyes never straying from the man in the suit for too long before they were darting back again.  The man didn’t notice, looking down at his phone the whole time, but really if they were in a cartoon Clint would have hearts for eyes.    The whole exchange was less than five minutes, but when the man in the suit took his coffee with a small smile and thanked him, Clint practically melted on the spot.

“Might want to mop up some of that drool,” Kate said as the door swung shut behind the man, and Clint jumped a mile, wiping at his chin like he thought maybe he really had been drooling.

“Shut up,” he responded, the tips of his ears going pink.

“So, you’ve got it bad for that guy,” she pressed. “What’s his name?”

“Phil,” Clint responded, obviously realizing that he wasn’t fooling anyone. “But he doesn’t know I exist.  I mean, he’s been coming in every day for two years and all he’s ever said to me is his name and his coffee order.  Just spends the whole time looking at his phone.”

“Firstly, you sound like a thirteen year old girl,” Kate told him. “Secondly, why don’t you try having a conversation with him instead of staring at him like a creep the whole time?”

Clint’s ears went red again and he rubbed the back of his neck. “I did try that, once.  I got so tongue-tied I just babbled some nonsense and then spilled a whole cup of scalding coffee down the front of my jeans.  I get really stupid when he’s around.  It’s a problem.”

“You seem like the kind of person who always have something to say,” Kate told him, taking an order from a spacey lady in a cat sweater.

“Well, yeah, usually I am.  But he’s so good looking and sharply dressed, and he’s got this commanding tone when he comes in talking on his phone…He’s just way out of my league, and I can’t make myself say anything around him, let alone anything that would make him want to date me.”

“I think you’re selling yourself short,” Kate told him, handing the cat lady her change. “You’re hot, Clint.  I would definitely hit that.  Please don’t fire me for sexual harassment.”

Clint only laughed and shook his head. “No worries, I won’t.  But anyway, if he had any interest in me, he would have said something by now.  I’ll just have to live with staring at him stupidly every day at eleven o’ clock. Now come on, we’ve got customers.”

“Yes sir!” she said, sending him a sarcastic salute, to which he laughed. She’d have to come up with a plan to hook up Clint and cute suit guy.  She wasn’t sure she could take even a week of the pathetic mooning she’d seen on display today.

* * *

 

It took a week before she came up with a good plan.  A week of the cute suit coming in at eleven and Clint stumbling over his words and smiling like an idiot the whole time and the suit staring at his phone but occasionally glancing up at Clint and watching his ass as he moved around behind the counter.  She thought it was about time they got their acts together and got together.

The usual rush came and went, and Clint, as always, disappeared into the back to fix his hair and make himself pretty.  Kate did her usual cleaning at a double pace so that she’d have enough time to put her plan in to action.  She grabbed the paint marker for the black board and erased Clint’s name and the drink special for the day, inserting her own message along with a little stick figure of Clint, stupid spiky hair and all.  When she was done, it said, “Today your barista is: 1. Hella fucking gay 2. desperately single.  For your drink today I recommend: you give me your number”.  It was a pretty awesome plan, if she did say so.  She quickly put the marker back as Clint came out from the back, straightening his t-shirt and still messing with his hair.  She snorted, rolled her eyes, and sat back to watch the show.

Phil-the-Suit came in at eleven, same as any day.  Kate, who was watching very carefully, saw his eyes flick towards the board for a long moment, and saw the falter in his step as he approached the counter.  Clint was already leaning forward next to the cash register, flexing his arms not-so-subtly.  Their interaction was the same as always, and Kate found herself disappointed as he left the shop without any changes to their interaction.  But Clint was pink in the face, staring down at the counter top like it was the face of god.

“Kate,” he said, his voice hoarse. “What does this look like to you?”  She approached the counter curiously, wondering what Clint could possibly be freaking out about.  But as she got to the counter, she saw what he was staring at.  It was a business card with ten digits on it.  She felt a thrill of success run up her spine when she said, “Well, Clint.  To me, that looks like a phone number.”

And Clint let out a howl of success, doing a stupid dance all around the shop.  Kate was embarrassed for him, but she couldn’t help but smile.

* * *

 

The next day Clint came in with the air of a man who had gotten everything he wanted in life, and when Phil-the-Suit came in at eleven, Kate watched as they spoke to each other quietly with matching stupid grins.

She definitely deserved a raise.


	9. nine

Original post [here](http://bonitabreezy.tumblr.com/post/54951222855/daftfunke-kicks-him-keep-working-bitch-the#notes)

 

The smell of delicious food met Phil as soon as he opened the front door to his apartment, and he couldn't help the satisfied smile that broke over his face.  It was Phil's birthday, and he'd known that Clint would be planning something, but he had thought it would probably involve the other Avengers.  That wouldn't have necessarily been a bad thing, but he was really looking forward to some good food and quality time with his husband.

He stopped in the hallway to put his briefcase in the closet and leave his shoes on the rack by the door, next to Clint's beat up combat boots and a  pair of running shoes.  He could hear strains of Billy Joel wafting from the kitchen, accompanied by the smell of curry and an undercurrent of chocolate.  He undid his tie and wound it up to shove in his pocket as he came around the corner to the kitchen doorway.

"Hi, I'm-" his greeting died in his throat, his mouth going dry as he took in the view before him.  Clint was on his hands and knees on the kitchen floor wearing only a tight pair of black boxer briefs, cleaning something up off the tiles with a dish towel.  His nicely displayed back muscles stretched and bunched as he moved the towel along the floor, and the curve of his spine combined with the boxer briefs did nothing to hide his perfectly round ass.  Phil had the sudden overwhelming desire to bite it.

Clint looked up and over his shoulder at the sound of Phil's voice, a smile stretching over his face. "Hey Baby!" he greeted. "Happy Birth-"

His well-wishes were interrupted by Phil stepping forward until he could get his foot under Clint's stomach with enough leverage to flip him on his back. Clint went over easily, clearly not expecting it, just barely managing to keep his head from hitting the floor.  Phil didn't stop to make sure he was okay, because it was clear that he was, and stepped over him, settling down to sit on his pelvis.

"Hi," Clint greeted cheekily, his eyes glittering with amusement.

Phil responded by leaning down and capturing Clint's lips, running his hands possessively over Clint's chest and scraping his short nails over Clint's abdomen.  Clint let out a little moan, his own hands coming up to yank Phil's shirt out of his pants so that he could press his hands to the skin and the small of Phil's back.

"Damn," Clint said when Phil finally pulled back enough to let them both catch their breath. "Is it your birthday or mine?"

"I come home to you almost naked spread out on your hands and knees like a slut and you have to ask?" Phil responded. "It's definitely mine."  He kissed Clint again, his hands creeping down to start tugging at Clint's underwear.  Clint wriggled happily, and then they both froze as his phone started chiming on the counter top.

"I swear to god if that's Nick or Steve..." Phil started, but Clint shook his head.

"No, it's the timer for the food.  Let me up so it doesn't burn."  Phil very reluctantly let Clint up off the floor, wincing at the the ache in his knees from the abuse he'd put them through.  Clint was flipping off burners and piling food onto two plates as if he hadn't just been about a minute away from a blow job, and Phil considered grabbing him by the back of those tight little boxer briefs and dragging him back to their bedroom.

"Don't even think about it," Clint said without even looking at him. "I spent hours cooking today.  You're going to eat, and you're going to like it."

"Why were you crawling around in your underwear if you weren't going to let me fuck you?" Phil asked, putting up a token protest.

"I took off my clothes because I didn't want to spill anything on them," Clint explained, like stripping down to his skivvies was a completely rational way to solve that particular problem.  He picked up the plates and carried them out to the nicely set dining room table, setting them down before he cast a flirty smile over his shoulder.

"Besides, who said I wasn't going to let you fuck me?"


End file.
